


Like a Stone

by teauku



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alya Césaire Is A Good Bro, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Parent Gabriel Agreste, Character Death, Gabriel Agreste's A+ Parenting, Gen, Good Parents Sabine Cheng & Tom Dupain, Hurt Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Nino Lahiffe Is a Good Bro, POV Multiple, Temporary Character Death, Unreliable Narrator, anti Alya salt, deadrien, lol I killed our sunshine boy, no beta we die like men, probably, she's just stupid sometimes, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:22:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22790116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teauku/pseuds/teauku
Summary: “I’m not here to fight.”It was easy to confuse her grief for rage.She let it fuel her, ignoring the tears that blurred her vision. “You killed him!”“You’re notlistening.”“Youkilledhim-”“And I amtryingto bring him back!”“What?”Hawkmoth stood tall in the growing shadows, straight backed and calculating. “I’m here to make a deal.”
Relationships: Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug & Tikki
Comments: 39
Kudos: 184





	1. Cobweb Afternoon

Gabriel crashed to his knees, sucking in a pained breath.

“M-master!” Nooroo cried, somewhere to his right.

_It hadn’t worked. She hadn’t listened. Again._

He gripped at his hair, chest burning, and reached for his cane. It had rolled some feet away from him, towards…. He closed his eyes. He couldn’t bear to look at his failure. At the imagined betrayal in her eyes. Emilie had been worth _any_ price.

Glazed eyes, dull, green and lifeless, swam into his vision. He snapped his own eyes open and forced himself to his feet. Clutched his cane tightly and stood on trembling legs.

“Master, are you al-”

“You know the answer to that!” Gabriel snapped. Nooroo folded in on himself. He managed, inexplicably, to look _smaller_ , grief etched into his features. Nooroo had no _right_ to this grief. It was Gabriel’s alone to bear. He straightened his collar, turned sharply on his heel, and walked towards the lift. Away from this room of nightmares and blood. “Eat. I need you in ten minutes.”

“Master!” Nooroo’s voice was desperate and shrill. “Master, please. This was the third one today! Can’t you see that it’s not-”

Gabriel’s pointed stare silenced the kwami.

“Ten minutes,” he repeated, and tried not to think of green eyes.

XX

Marinette was exhausted. In just over two days, she had fought no fewer than seven akumas.

Thursday night (Friday morning?) had started something strange. Different. The akuma had terrorized one of the local hospitals sometime before 3AM. Chat must have slept through the akuma alerts, and honestly, Marinette couldn’t blame him. She only heard them as quickly as she had because something had woken her up half an hour earlier. Some sense of unease that she couldn’t shake had kept her awake until her phone started vibrating.

She dealt with the akuma easily enough -it was rampaging and sloppy- and dragged herself back home just after her parents started getting ready. She could hear her father’s soft humming drifting through the floorboards. She closed her eyes, letting the melody soak into her like rays of moonlight, and slept.

The next day, torture. An akuma before lunch. No sign of Chat. She dealt with it quickly enough not to miss his absence… is what she told Alya when asked for comment. Akuma, less than two hours after lunch. _Again._ Absent Chat Noir.

_Again_.

Marinette worried her lower lip. Her partner had seemed somewhat preoccupied lately. She had called him out on it just yesterday afternoon. ‘ _You’re pawfully purrceptive, My Lady.’_ Ugh. And with a hideously unsubtle wink, to boot. _‘Just some civvy stuff. Nothing apawling.’_ She had fixed him with a flat stare until he sobered. _‘I’ll be okay.’_ Then he had smiled, wide and shining like always. She couldn’t remember if it had reached his eyes.

Chat didn’t show up for the third akuma that evening. She called, and called, and called, and eventually ended up recruiting Rena Rouge. The fight took longer than it would have with Chat, and Marinette tried not to feel ungrateful.

Blessed Saturday allowed Marinette to sleep in until her alarms started blaring again. Akuma. Fight. No partner. Akuma tries reason. That’s a surprise. It’s been a long time since Hawkmoth had tried to convince Ladybug to hand over her Miraculous before going on the offensive. Fight some more. Call Chat. No answer. Carapace. Call Chat. No answer. Defeat akuma. Call Chat. No answer.

After the third akuma of her Saturday with no Chat Noir, Marinette wasn’t sure whether she wanted to scream or cry. Or both. “I don’t understand, Tikki,” she moaned, sliding onto her bed in a defeated slump. She handed Tikki a cookie. It was probably stale, but Marinette didn’t have the energy to go downstairs for a fresh one, and Tikki didn’t complain. “Hawkmoth has never been this aggressive before. And Chat’s never missed this many fights in a row. I know he’s dealing with some stuff, and it’s technically not even been a whole weekend, but…”

“His line is completely disconnected.” Tikki worried the cookie in her grip, looking as exhausted as Marinette felt. “Usually, I can feel something from Plagg, but… Marinette, I can’t feel _anything.”_

Marinette couldn’t help the knot of anxiety flipping through her stomach. She’d been hoping that Chat was just… busy. Out of town for the weekend. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had missed something important. Something critical and earthshattering that had happened while the world was sleeping. Instead, she felt like an iron hand gripped her chest in a vice. She needed _answers._

Her phone was ringing, Alya’s face flashing on her screen. _Sorry, Alya._ “Tikki, spots on.”

xx

“Ladybug,” a voice said behind her. She sat on the edge of a rooftop overlooking the Seine, swinging her legs. A warm breeze played with her hair. She remembered Chat sputtering, strands of her hair tickling his nose, when they had last sat here, tucked together, knees touching. There was still no sign of him. The sun was starting to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows. It took her a moment to register that voices didn’t usually join her on rooftops. She turned to look, and-

Hawkmoth.

He stood. Too close, too close, too close too _close_.

She leapt to her feet, pushing off with her arms and spinning to face him, ready to fight, or ready to _run_ , she wasn’t sure.

He hadn’t moved. The colors of the sunset made him look warm. It was jarring and discordant and she needed to get _away_ , she needed-

“Chat Noir is dead.”

The air left her lungs. The ground disappeared and the sky turned grey and she shook her head. She had seen Chat, just two days ago, two _days_ ago, and there was no _way_ Hawkmoth was going to get to her so easily. “You’re _lying_ ,” she hissed. “I don’t know why you left your little hideaway and decided to do your own dirty work for once, but whatever you’re planning isn’t going to _work_ on me.”

Hawkmoth didn’t move. He only stared at her, all the more unnerving. His eyes were flat, reminding Ladybug of ice and of death. He reached into his pocket, and she flinched, ready to _move._ But when he uncurled his fist, oh _God,_ there sat a ring. It was silver, not black, but somehow, Ladybug _knew_. And it hurt to breathe. It hurt to _exist_. She had just- _they_ had just- had it really only been two days? Two days ago that they had sat and watched the sunset on a roof not far from this one? Two days ago that she had complained to him about physics homework and he had offered to _help_ her, even though he was smiling and she couldn’t remember if it reached his eyes? Oh God. Oh _God._

Chat. _Chat._

Screams were ringing in her ears, and she knew they were hers. She was distantly aware that her body had lunged at Hawkmoth. She was screaming, and she had thrown herself at Hawkmoth. She was crying, and screaming, and clawing at a monster twice her size, and it was a _bad idea_ , and she would likely lose if she didn’t _snap out of it._

Hawkmoth threw her off of him and she skid, barely stopping before the roof dropped.

“I’m not here to fight.”

It was easy to confuse her grief for rage _._ She let it fuel her, ignoring the tears that blurred her vision. “You killed him!”

“You’re not _listening._ ”

“You _killed_ him-”

“And I am _trying_ to bring him back!”

“What?”

Hawkmoth stood tall in the growing shadows, straight backed and calculating. “I’m here to make a deal.”

And Ladybug, against her better judgement, lowered her weapon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, hi fandom. This is my first time posting fic, really. This started as my brain attempting to make a Ladybug-Hawkmoth begrudging teamup. I have some ideas for a multi-chapter fic, but they are disjointed and I'm not sure if I will ever get around to, you know, writing them. Still, my friend has been urging me to post this drabble, so I made an account. Enjoy?


	2. Back Turned Towards the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of plot, this story will take place sometime between Feast and Timetagger.

"What kind of deal?" For as young as she was, Ladybug did a remarkable job feigning composure. She may have stopped twirling that child’s toy she claimed as a weapon, but she never slackened her grip, never shifted her weight into anything other than a ready stance, and never let her eyes leave his. Hawkmoth would have been impressed were it not such an inconvenience. Time was pressing, and she was _wasting it._

"You want him back,” he replied, keeping his voice level. “Together, we can make that happen. I already have his Miraculous. We need only combine it with yours." Once they did, everything would be right again. This misfortune would fade away like it had never been. Erased from the annals of time.

“ _We?_ I’m not going to give you my Miraculous,” Ladybug hissed. Her eyes were narrow and her voice was strong, despite the still-drying tears on her face.

It was a monumental effort to release the tension in his fists and shoulders. Her resistance was not unexpected, but this had to work. She _had_ to listen. “Not even to save your partner?” 

Indecision flashed behind her eyes before they turned to steel. “Your manipulations won’t work on me. The answer is no.” She stepped back, towards the roof’s edge.

_No._ If he lost this tentative opening, Hawkmoth knew it would remain lost. Unacceptable. “Then combine the Miraculous yourself.” This was _not_ the plan. He could fight her. It was possible to overpower her, to take the Miraculous by force. She was alone. She had no partner- of that he had made sure. The thought made his chest twist uncomfortably, and he shook visions of vacant eyes from his memory. It may not have been the original plan, but it may yet work to his advantage. The grimoire and Nooroo had made very clear that once Ladybug and Chat Noir's Miraculous were combined, only one wish could be made. But if _Ladybug_ made the wish, there would be no stopping _Gabriel Agreste_ from later making one of his own. She could bring Adrien back, and he would be closer than ever to saving Emilie. “ _You_ make the wish, restore him, and return the Miraculous back to me."

"What, so you can go back to terrorizing Paris for mine, while I'm down a partner?"

"He would no longer be Chat Noir, but he would be _alive_. An improvement over his current circumstances.”

That was, perhaps, the wrong thing to say. Ladybug’s features twisted in rage and something else. A familiar anguish that Hawkmoth had deliberately buried, like he hadn’t bothered to bury his-

“How _dare_ you-”

How dare he? How dare _she?_ What right did this _child_ have to his grief? She had lost a playmate. He had lost _everything._ “That is what I offer,” he forced out, tension working his jaw. “Should you choose not to take it, I will come for you, and everyone you hold dear, with everything I have. I will _tear this world apart at the seams._ "

Ladybug frowned, taken aback by either the fervor in his voice or the heaving of his breath. Her eyes were assessing, shaping with dawning realization as she slotted together a puzzle to which he had not realized he had given her the pieces. “You want him back, too.”

He snarled and opened his mouth to deny it. It was apparently the only denial he couldn’t voice. His silence was condemning enough.

“Why?”

Echos of a crack like thunder made Hawkmoth falter. It was a sound purely from his mind and memory. It would haunt him, as two very different sets of green eyes haunted him. He remained silent.

“Why?” Ladybug pressed.

“He-” The knot in his chest twisted, sharply. She could not have the upper hand in this. It was only by some miracle that he kept his composure when he felt like he was slipping, like everything was slipping. Even so, he felt a sudden need for justification. “I didn’t know.”

Ladybug regarded him. “Didn’t know what?” Something in his words or in his voice had softened the tension in her posture, replacing apprehension with wary curiosity. 

“Chat Noir” -the name had never tasted so foreign- “was my son.”

Ladybug’s eyes were blown wide, and the redness from her earlier tears, just barely dry, made them all the more blue. Her mouth hung open in shock. “Your…” She squeezed her eyes briefly shut, mouth twisting in horror and grief. “Oh, _Chat_.” She was so young. That vice over his heart was back, and it hurt like a physical thing. Had Adrien really been just as young?

“As you can see,” he said, pushing through the whispers in the back of his mind, “my offer is genuine. You want your partner. I want my _son_. Combine the Miraculous. Use their power. Bring him back to me. To us.”

“I,” she looked desperately uncertain, “I need time to-”

“We don’t _have_ time. My son has been dead for two days. While you delay, his body _rots.”_ His words were harsh. He didn’t care. _“_ I need a decision. Now.”

Ladybug’s face crumpled. “Tomorrow,” she said, and he realized had not been paying enough attention to her subtly changing position. She had angled herself perfectly, timed the city around her perfectly. She swung her yo-yo at his feet- he was completely unprepared- and lept, backwards, from the roof.

By the time Hawkmoth righted himself, she was gone from his sight. This was not in the plans he had made. He ground his teeth together and set off towards his sanctuary- his hell. This would be the third night he shared a roof with a corpse. It would never truly be a sanctuary again.

_‘I didn’t know,’_ he had told her. Maybe if he spoke it enough, he could convince himself it wasn’t a lie. 

XX

‘Tikki, I don’t know what to _do,”_ finally alone in her room, Marinette sobbed into her knees.

“Oh, Marinette. I’m so sorry.” Tikki laid her head on her shoulder. Grief was something she knew well, though not as intimately as Plagg. The kwami wished Marinette had longer before its shadows touched her.

“It’s not _fair_ ,” Marinette cried. “Why Chat? Why? He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve _any_ of this!” Her chest tightened in an ache she hadn’t known could exist. It was a pain that hadn’t stopped since she learned why Chat hadn’t stood by her side during the attacks, and would never stand by it again. Since Hawkmoth threw it in her face and tried to bargain like he was opening a business deal and _not_ taunting her with the murder of her partner.

Of his _son._

Chat was… was killed by his own father. Did he know, she wondered, who it was behind the mask of the man who murdered him? Marinette hoped, with every fiber of her being, that Chat was at least granted this small mercy. That, even as he met his death at the hands of Hawkmoth, he was spared the face of the man behind the mask. Chat couldn’t know that it was his father who killed him. The world couldn’t be so cruel. _But,_ murmured a part of her mind Marinette tried desperately to silence, _Chat Noir wasn’t the one with the kwami of good fortune._

She was going to be sick. “I can’t do this.” _Not without Chat._ She dug her fingers into her hair. “I need to fix this.”

Tikki sounded pained. “You can’t fix death, Marinette.”

At this, Marinette finally lifted her head from her knees. She stared at Tikki, hard. “But _you_ can.”

Tikki recoiled. “Marinette, _no_. There is always a terrible price to pay!”

“I can’t just do nothing!” This couldn’t be the end. There couldn’t just… _not_ be any more horrible puns. Any more lazy sunsets, shoulder to shoulder, alive with easy conversation. Any more noses crinkling in mock indignation when she flicked that stupid bell. Any more winks and laughter and open, shining green eyes. “He was my _friend._ ”

At that, Tikki sagged, antennae dropping in a tandem with her little shoulders. “I know.” And really, Marinette knew she did. “But we don’t have to do _nothing_.” Tikki said, her distressed expression shifting into something thoughtful. “We can’t give Hawkmoth what he wants, but… maybe we can do something else. There are other Miraculous, Marinette. Let’s talk to Master Fu. Maybe he knows something. Maybe there’s another way.”

The idea burned a desperate light of hope in Marinette. She surged to her feet, too suddenly, and swayed.

“In the _morning_.” .

“This can’t wait until _morning,_ Tikki! Chat-”

“You need _rest_. You’ve barely slept in three days.” Tikki had positioned herself inches from Marinette’s nose. She pressed, gently, on her forehead, and Marinette tipped backwards, sitting heavily back onto her bed. “Please go in the morning, Marinette. I couldn’t _bear_ it if something happened to you, too.”

Marinette wiped at her eyes. “Okay,” she said, because the room was spinning and her tears and the lack of sleep had left her drained, hollow. She kicked off her shoes and fell back against her pillow, not bothering to change clothes or slide under the covers.

“We _will_ get through this,” Tikki murmured, tucking herself between Marinette’s neck and shoulder, “together.”

Marinette wished she were reassured. But Tikki, bless her, was doing her best. So Marinette said nothing and stared at the ceiling, thinking of green eyes and golden hair, until the darkness claimed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I have decided to continue after all! I have a loose outline of the entire fic planned out, so I should be able to write and post with some regularity. Thank you to those of you who have dropped Kudos and comments. I appreciate you! I will do my best not to disappoint.


	3. Interlude 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief interlude from Tom and Sabine

Something was wrong with Marinette. Sabine had been the first to notice. "She looks tired,” she said Friday morning, watching Marinette dash out the door- late for school, as usual. Sabine was always the more observant of the marriage.

Tom kissed his wife’s flour dusted cheek. “She probably hasn’t woken up all the way. A morning person, our girl is not.”

She hummed, and continued rolling out butter.

XX

Friday afternoon, Marinette did not come by for lunch. That wasn’t unusual. Akuma alerts had gone off, which… wasn’t actually unusual either. Tom wondered, wryly, how they had allowed super-powered terrorist attacks to become so mundane that they had a routine. Tom text Marinette while Sabine called the school, just to be sure. Classes were on lockdown, but the akumas are not near the school. Everything was fine, the children were fine, classes were being held as normal. Tom continued minding the counter.

Sabine boxed their latest cake and frowned at the clock.

XX

When Marinette came home from school, dragging her feet and looking ready to collapse, Tom kicked himself. She must be getting sick. He set down the tray of macaroons in his hands and made his way around the counter, but Sabine was quicker than he was, and bustled over to their daughter.

“Marinette, honey, are you alright?” Her hands were already testing Marinette’s cheeks. Her forehead.

“Hi maman, hi papa. I’m fine.” She slipped out of her shoes, heaving a sigh that dropped her shoulders. “I’m just really, really tired. I couldn’t go back to sleep after the alarms went off last night, and then we had _two_ akumas today, so everyone was freaking out at school, and I’m just,” she yawned, hugely, “I think I’m going to go take a nap.”

Tom and Sabine shared a look.

“Marinette,” Tom said after giving his daughter a hug that lifted her feet clear off the ground (he would never _not_ hug his daughter when she came home), “are you sure you’re not coming down with something?”

“Pretty sure! I’ll let you know, though, if I don’t feel better after my nap, okay?”

That seemed perfectly logical to Tom, so he let Marinette make her way upstairs without a fuss. When the trapdoor closed behind Marinette, he turned to boil water, opening his mouth to suggest that maybe they should make some soup, just in case.

Sabine was already grinding herbs in the mortar.

XX

Marinette had seemed to perk up after her nap and the piping bowl of chicken soup. She’d just finished and gone off to shower when their phones chimed with the third akuma alert of the day.

“This many in one day, is… unusual,” Sabine said, brow furrowed.

They both knew, though, that unusual wasn’t even _close_ to the right word for it. Tom checked on Marinette three times that night. There were no more akumas.

If Tom and Sabine suspected something was off with their daughter on Friday, certainty slapped them both in the face the following day. The next morning, Marinette rushed out the door before either of them could get a good look at her, citing a project before either of them could get in a word. She was gone most of the day, even when the news reported not one, not two, but _three_ akumas in a row. Again. Marinette stayed out working on her project, and Tom was so anxious by the third alert that he had over-kneaded two batches of dough and burned three trays of cookies.

“Where _is_ she, Sabine? She’s supposed to come home when- it’s Saturday. She’s not at school. She should be here where it’s safe!”

Sabine brushed at her apron, even though it only really spread flour around. “She sent messages. She’s alright. You know how hard it is to get across the city when people are in a panic. She’s just waiting the traffic out. She’s fine. I'm sure she’ll be home soon.”

Marinette did not come home soon.

XX

Tom scoured the city for hours. He checked the library. Sabine called Marinette’s friends to ask if they had seen her. They hadn’t. As far as they knew, there were no projects. Marinette hadn’t said it was a school project, though, so it may have been a design project. Tom checked all her favorite fabric shops. She’d bought some thread in the morning. He checked the art shops. She’d bought a sketchbook. She could have gone anywhere, for ‘inspiration.’ She wasn’t answering her phone. The city was dark by now, with sunset two hours gone. Cities were different, after dark. Marinette knew that. Knew she was supposed to be _home_ well before now. Knew that a young lady, _alone_ \- He felt another spike of panic. He _knew_ that Marinette needed her independence. Her freedom to explore. But she was still a child, and maybe he had given her _too much_ , and maybe-

His phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Tom,” Sabine. “Tom she’s home. She’s here. Come home.”

He staggered, leaning against a nearby lamppost. Relief left his knees weak. “I’m on my way.”

XX

Sabine didn’t know when Marinette got home. She had been there the whole time. Had closed the bakery after the third akuma of the day, when Tom had gone out to look for their daughter. Marinette was smart, and resourceful, and Sabine normally fiercely defended her independence, but… well, a mother would always worry.

Sabine had been hovering by the front door for hours. Worry and endless phone calls left her throat dry, and she finally forced herself into the kitchen to get water. A faint light illuminated the cracks of Marinette’s trapdoor, and Sabine nearly dropped the glass she had just filled. She surged up the steps, flinging the door open, hope bubbling in her chest.

Marinette lay, sprawled on her back, on top of her covers. She wore the same clothes she had that morning. Moonlight kissed her face, highlighting her furrowed brow, swollen eyes, and the streaks on her cheeks. Sabine climbed to her daughter’s side, inspecting every inch of her. No cuts, marks, or bruises, her clothing and fingernails clean. She almost wept with relief. Her daughter was alright. Physically, anyway.

Sabine released a heavy breath, hands ghosting over Marinette's tear-stained cheek. She didn’t stir. _How long_ , Sabine wondered, _has she been home?_ How long had she been downstairs making frantic calls, Tom searching the city in a panic, while-

_Tom,_ she remembered with a jolt. She pressed a kiss to Marinette’s forehead. In her exhaustion, Marinette didn’t stir. Sabine let her daughter sleep, and went downstairs to call her husband.

XX

Sabine was cutting strawberries, Tom making crepes for Marinette, when the teen thundered out of her room, far earlier than expected for a Sunday morning.

“Marinette,” Sabine called. Their daughter was already dressed, and halfway to the front door. Oh, no. _Not_ happening. “Your father and I need to talk to you.”

“O-oh. Maman. Papa. Good morning. I have to… go. out. To, um. Finish my project! The one from yesterday! I got interrupted with all the akumas and everything, so I never got to-”

Tom stared at their daughter in disbelief. “To _tell your parents when you got home?”_

“Uh, I-”

Sabine rested a hand on her husband’s arm. While the accusatory tone was, in her opinion, well deserved, now wasn’t the right time. “Honey, what happened, yesterday?”

Marinette flinched. “I never said anything happened! I’m,” the word ‘okay’ was not forthcoming, “just busy. And I really _do_ have to go. It’s important, and it can’t wait, and we’ll just have to talk later, because I'm already late, I love you, bye!”

“Now wait just a minute!”

She was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be back to plot. There will be a few scattered interludes throughout the story from scattered perspectives that don't necessarily advance the plot. So far, I plan for Tom, Sabine, and Gorilla, but there might me more. 
> 
> ALSO if anyone has tag suggestions, please feel free to drop them in the comments! I would like to add more, but I'm not sure what to add.


	4. When the storm arrives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things don't go quite as planned.

“I am sorrier than you could know, Marinette, but my answer is no.”

Marinette stared in wide-eyed disbelief. She had spent the better part of the morning hunting for Master Fu. By the time she tracked him down to a cozy cafe, she looked like such a disaster that the owner had immediately offered the employee lounge (it was more of a closet with a table and chairs, really) for his new employee to have a private conversation with his ‘granddaughter.’ She explained everything, wringing her hands and praying there was a way to fix things. It had never occurred to her that there _might_ be a way, but Master Fu would say _no._ “Master, I don’t think you understand what I’m saying. Chat is-”

“I understand, Marinette.” He seemed smaller, like he’d shrunk in on himself. Even so, his voice was firm. “But we cannot play with time.”

“Yes we _can!_ Why would there specifically be a miraculous for it if we aren’t allowed to use it?”

“That is for emergencies already related to time. It is regrettable. I feel this burden more than you could know-”

Marinette _lost_ it. “Regrettable? _Regrettable_?” She was definitely shouting now. “Chat is _dead!_ Chat, a teenage boy, who _you_ recruited, who _you_ claimed was special, was _chosen_ to fight a grown adult _terrorist_ , who was my _best friend_ , is _dead_ , and all you can say is that it’s _regrettable?”_ she pointed a finger at him, her whole body shaking with fury. _“_ I can’t _believe_ you!”

"You don't know how he died. You don't know when or where. You don't even know if he is really dead.” Fu’s words cut though her, and her breath hitched. The idea that Hawkmoth could be lying… why hadn’t it occurred to her? “Hawkmoth is clearly laying a trap. That you are playing into it without a thought shows me that I am making the right decision. Now, more than ever, we need to focus on retrieving the butterfly miraculous. He is already closer to his goal, so we need to be on our guard.”

“So, what, just. _forget_ about Chat? Just. Just act like he’s on _vacation?”_

“Of course not!” he snapped. Marinette felt a thrill run through her, thinking maybe, just _maybe_ , he had changed his mind. But Master Fu only shook his head. “I’m sorry, Marinette. Truly, I am. But the answer is still no.” He _did_ look sorry. It only served to enrage her further. “I have learned from my past mistakes. We cannot use a miraculous for our own selfish desires. You will understand these hard choices when you’re older.”

“I will _never_ understand,” she spat. In what universe was saving the most _selfless_ boy in all of Paris a selfish desire? “If you won’t help me, I will find a way to fix this _without_ your help.”

Fu snapped his eyes to hers. They were wide with alarm. “Marinette-”

“Goodbye, Master Fu.” The door closed too softly behind her, and Marinette did not look back.

XX

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” Hawkmoth said. He stood, waiting, on the same rooftop he had the night before.

Ladybug kept her distance, watching. “I want to see his body.”

Those were, quite possibly, the last words he had expected to hear. He frowned. “Absolutely not.”

"He was right. You're sick.” _What?_ “What did you do to him? Where is he? I'm not listening to anything you say without proof." Her voice cracked on the last word. Ah. She thought he might be lying, then. How he wished he were.

“Ladybug. I am not lying. But the proof,” he gripped the cane in his hands so tightly that it trembled, “isn’t something you should see. You’re too young-”

Ladybug scowled. “Chat was young enough for you to kill, but _I’m_ too young to see him?”

It was a monumental effort to remain still. He didn’t have an appropriate response for that, really, so he chose to ignore her last comment altogether. He forced his shoulders to relax. Forced the swirling memories of too young green eyes from where they whispered in his mind. “I take it, from your newfound skepticism, that you spoke to your guardian. Are you willing to help me or not? Should you refuse, our truce is over.”

“I-”

“Well? The longer you delay, the more complicated things become. You have very little to lose from this arrangement.” _While I lose everything if you deny it_ was left unsaid. “If I am lying, then your wish will have no consequence anyway.”

She was quiet for a long moment, and Hawkmoth again wrestled with the idea of striking her where she stood. Just as he was deciding it worth the risk, Ladybug spoke. “I’ll do it.”

She stepped forward, caution written in the line of her shoulders, the stiffness of her back. She held out her hand, and he stared at it. Finally. _Finally_ he could put this mess behind him. They could rewrite _all_ of this, like it never was. Although, if he took the miraculous himself, perhaps there would be a way to undo all of this at once. Perhaps-

Misunderstanding his hesitation, Ladybug interrupted his thoughts. “I promise I’ll bring him back.” Looking into her eyes, Hawkmoth was ready to believe she meant it. He reached into his pocket and placed the silver ring in her waiting palm. Her fingers curled around it delicately, reverently, and she slipped the ring onto her finger. “Plagg, Tikki,” she commanded, “unify!”

Hawkmoth wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the silence that followed.

Ladybug frowned. “Unify!” she repeated.

Nothing happened.

She stared at the miraculous, shining silver on her finger. “I don’t understand.”

The air felt, quite suddenly, like molasses. He was breathing, but there was no _air._ “ _What_ don’t you understand? Why isn’t it working?”

“I don’t know.” Her eyes, impossibly wide, stayed trained on his son’s damned ring.

“Perhaps your guardian taught you the wrong commands.”

She shook her head. “They’re the right ones. Something’s wrong. I don’t- I need to talk to my kwami.”

It was only Nooroo’s magic that kept his cane from snapping in his grip. “Not to your _guardian?”_ He could follow her to him. Find the guardian. Make him talk. Force him to reveal the secrets of the miraculous not written in the grimoire and-

“He refused to help.”  
  


 _He what?_ This guardian, who saw fit to issue the responsibility of defending Paris to children, refused to help the very one he endangered in the first place? It was this guardian that jeopardized Emilie’s return. _This guardian_ that had his son lying and sneaking out of the house in some misguided ideal of heroism. The same misguided ideal that killed him. When Hawkmoth found this guardian, he decided, he would die bloody.

If her expression were anything to go by, Ladybug was of a like mind in this, at least. “We’re on our own.” Hawkmoth did not fail to notice her use of the term we. Whether or not she fully believed him, Ladybug was at least willing to honor their temporary alliance. “I’ll talk to my kwami. I’ll meet you here again tomorrow.”

“I’m not willing to wait until tomorrow,” he snapped. While they waited, Adrien-

“Well, we don’t have a choice! I need to find out what’s happening, and I can’t ask anybody _else_ for help. So unless you have a better idea, back off and let me _save my partner_.”

Stop _trying to claim him. He is_ my _son._ “Do not try to cheat me.”

“With Chat at stake?" She met his eyes, and they were steel. "Never.”

XX

“What was that?” Marinette was trying her very best not to scream. She had successfully dodged her parents all day, and she did _not_ want them coming up into her room because she was yelling at nothing, because that would absolutely confirm that something was wrong with her and that she was either sick or crazy, or probably both, and she really did _not_ have time to worry about her parents right now because she _really_ needed to worry about _Chat_ , and “ _What the hell was that, Tikki?”_

Tikki hovered, twisting her little hands in distress.

“ _Tikki!”_ Marinette demanded, thrusting out Chat’s ring. She was frayed around the edges, coming apart at the seams, and everything that had been holding her together was unraveling fast.

“Plagg,” Tikki hedged, taking the ring and turning it over.

“Plagg, what?”

“Haven’t you noticed the ring is _silver_ , Marinette? Plagg isn’t in it. ”

“Well then where is he?” she demanded. Panic and dread were fighting for dominance and she wasn’t sure which one was worse.

Tikki’s distress only seemed to grow, and Marinette’s rose with it. “I don’t know, but he’s not here. I hoped he was just… dormant, blocking me out because he was so upset. I haven’t felt him since Thursday night.”

Thursday night. The night Marinette woke with an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. The night Chat missed a 3 AM akuma, and missed every akuma since. The night he- She struggled for air. “What does that mean?”

“Without Plagg,” Tikki was crying freely, “this miraculous is only a ring. There isn’t any power. No one can make a wish with it, now.”

And Marinette felt like a chasm had opened in her and dropped her into the sea. Chat Noir was dead, Plagg was gone, and there was no way to make a wish. Chat was dead.

_Chat was dead._


	5. Interlude 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There wasn't supposed to be another interlude for a few chapters, but then this happened. Incoming tone whiplash!

Something was very wrong with Marinette. Like, seriously wrong. Girl hadn’t answered her phone _all_ weekend, and, okay, so _maybe_ she was annoyed because she and the girls had gone to get ice cream without her on Thursday, but it wasn’t like Alya didn’t _try_ to invite her, and it wasn’t her fault that Marinette didn’t want to hang out with Lila for whatever crazy reason. Anyway. Something was wrong, and Alya was on the exposé.

_How_ did she know something was wrong, do you ask? Well, well, dear reader. The facts were these:

Friday: Marinette stumbled into class, bleary eyed as usual. Only made a passing comment about Adrien being absent. Clue number one. When Alya filled her in on the juicy details of her mini-interview with Ladybug after the first akuma of the day, Marinette _yawned_ in the middle of her story! Okay, so maybe that wasn’t a clue, but. _Rude._ Anyway, another akuma in the same day, and Alya offered to walk her home, and Marinette was _super_ dodgy about it. Clue number two. And _then_ , when there was a _crazy_ third akuma on the _same day_ , and the Ladyblog was blowing up, and when Alya text her, girl _left her on read._ Clue number three.

Saturday: She was _still on read_. Could that count as a clue twice? Probably not. But then Mme. Dupain-Cheng called asking about a project, and asked if had she seen Marinette. Seeing as there was no project? Clue number four. And _then_ Mme. Dupain-Chang kept calling? Marinette never made it home? Giant red flag/clue number five.

Sunday: Fed up with being left on read _again_ , Alya totally did what any reasonable, sane best friend would do and invited herself over to Marinette’s. Except, girl wasn’t home, and wasn’t answering her calls _or_ her parents’ calls, and if that wasn’t clue number six, Alya would eat her left shoe.

Which brought everything back to Monday, today: Marinette staggared into the classroom like the dead, eyes red rimmed and puffy, with bags for _days_. _Giant flaming_ clue number seven. Chloé made some typical Chloé comments about it, and Mari didn’t even glare at her. Clue number eight. She dodged all Alya’s questions. And her classmates’ questions. All day. Clue number nine.

And _now_ , Alix was telling the class how she was almost akumatized _twice_ over the weekend, and Marinette was staring at the wall. No reaction, whatsoever. Clue number ten, reporting for duty.

“Girl, what is _up_ with you today?” Only after she snapped in Marinette’s ear, like, five times did her bestie even bother to look at her. Her eyes were dazed, but not in her usual daydreaming-about-how-ultra-gorgeous-Adrien-is way. “You’ve been a zombie all day. Are you okay?”

“I, um.”

“Have you heard _anybody_ talking to you in the last five minutes? School’s already over.”

_That_ got a reaction. Marinette jolted out of her seat. “What? Oh, oh no. I have to go! I, um, need to do a thing!”

Okay, girl wasn’t even _trying_ to come up with excuses. Seriously.

“Mari, something’s going on. I can’t help if you don’t _tell_ me.”

“Oh wow, I am _so_ late for my thing! Gotta go!”

“Hey, wait!” And Marinette was out the door running. What? _What?_ Did she just. physically leave Alya on read? _Excuse me_ , Marrinette Dupain-Cheng, nobody escapes an Alya Césaire exposé. She surged to her feet, ready to take off after that slippery little-

A hand caught her wrist. “Babe.” Damnit, Nino. “Maybe you should, I don’t know, give her some space?”

“Space?!” She yanked her hand from Nino’s, spinning around to face him. “Did you not _see_ her today? She’s a mess!”

He did not flinch away from The Glare. Great. He was developing an immunity. “I know! But there’s, like, normal-mess Marinette, and… today-mess Marinette.”

“Which is totally why I should be _following her right now!_ ” By now, their argument had attracted an audience. The whole class was staring openly, aside from Myléne, who was the only one polite enough to at least pretend otherwise.

“Alya, don’t you think that might be the last thing she needs?”

Um. _Excuse me?_ “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Ohoho, tread carefully, Nino. Those cute eyes aren’t going to save you from the foot you’re about to put in your mouth.

“Well, you _have_ been trying to interrogate her all day.” Nathaniel’s voice was quiet, and a little unsure, but less so than expected from anyone confronting a raging Alya.

Alya scoffed. “That’s because something’s _wrong!_ Didn’t any of you get that call from Mme. Dupain-Cheng this weekend? Mari’s not _okay!”_

Rose was wringing her fingers. “I did,” she said. “I’m worried too, Alya, but… Maybe we all pushed a little too hard today?”

“You really should let her go, Alya,” Lila added. “Of course, we _all_ care for Marinette, but if she doesn’t trust us enough to open up, what can we do? She’d probably call us bad friends if we keep pushing.”

“Whoa, whoa, hey,” Nino interrupted, waving his hands. “No one is calling anybody a bad friend. I’m just saying sometimes you gotta let people come to you on their time.” He grabbed Alya by the shoulders, face inches from hers, and damnit, he did that on purpose, he knew she was weak for those puppy-dog eyes. “You’re a _good_ friend, Alya. And good friends worry about their best bros. But, you know, sometimes you just gotta be there whenever they’re ready.”

Alya blinked. Stupid, sweet, perfect boy. He was probably worrying about _his_ best friend right now. He’d made some comments during the day, and Alya, caught up in her own worries, hadn’t really given them much attention. Adrien hadn’t answered _his_ messages since Thursday, either. And then he was absent Friday, ghosted Nino all weekend, and then was absent today. And even though it totally wasn’t the same, because Mari was clearly upset and Adrien was probably just stuck doing boring photo shoots, Nino was likely just as worried as she was, and here she was, making a scene while he was holding her together and keeping her from being stupid and messing everything up.

She sighed and rested her forehead on his. “Okay.” But, well, she was still Alya Césaire. “But if she’s still not talking after tomorrow, we do things my way.”

Nino didn’t argue.


	6. Do you know what you'll give?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot advances, and things are set in motion.

Gabriel spent his night pouring over the yellowed pages of a book he had half a mind to set on fire. He had read and re-read, knowing all the while that he would find nothing. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t memorized the damn thing cover to cover. There was nothing new to discover. Still, Gabriel read. Marked pages. Scattered notes cluttered the desk where he sat, and Nathalie would likely kill him when she saw it. Although judging from the sunlight filtering into the room and the cold coffee settled by his elbow, she had already seen it. When had he fallen asleep?

It was no surprise really. He had not really stopped to rest in four days, save for what minutes exhaustion stole from him. Nathalie had been unexpectedly supportive, fielding his paperwork, staging an international photo campaign to feed Adrien’s school. She worked as tirelessly as he, and though she did not know the full story, she did not question him. He almost wished she would.

Adrien’s bodyguard was another matter entirely. Gabriel massaged his temples in a vain attempt to stave the headache that thundered behind his eyelids. The Gorilla, as Adrien called him, had _not_ been pleased to discover his charge had been whisked off to another country without him. He hadn’t been pleased with how dismissive Gabriel had been once confronted about it either, but really, Gabriel had other things to worry about.

Adrien’s eyes mocked him, scattered on every wall. Emilie’s eyes stared at him from across the room, bright and unaware of his sins. He turned the book back to its first pages again. There had to be answers, somewhere, and he would find them. Gabriel Agreste did not accept failure.

XX

If one more person tried to talk to Marinette today, she was going to _scream._

School had been a disaster. Alya kept alternating between asking what was wrong, and trying to cheer her up through distraction. Marinette loved Alya, she really did, but Alya’s preferred method of distraction involved wild speculations of recent events to post on the Ladyblog, and every time she mentioned akumas, or Hawkmoth, or _Chat_ Marinette just wanted to die. Or at least disappear forever and pretend the past weekend never happened and that this was all some sort of nightmare where she would wake up and Chat would annoy her with puns and she could pretend they weren’t charming. Where he would smile, and it would reach his eyes.

  
To make things worse, apparently she was so obvious that _everyone_ picked up on her rapidly spiraling mood and doubled down in the _are you okay?_ department. Marinette was definitely not okay. But what was she supposed to tell them? _Oh, hi, guys. Yeah, no, I’m actually the complete opposite of okay because I’m actually Ladybug and I just found out via Hawkmoth that my best friend Chat Noir is dead and I don’t actually know how it happened, but I’m pretty sure Hawkmoth killed him. Oh, and by the way, it turns out Hawkmoth is his father, but please, tell me again how upset you are that we have to make up Friday’s test tomorrow._ Yeah, that would go over well.

Autopilot brought Marinette home, but she stood outside the bakery doors, suddenly unsure. Now that she was here, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be. She didn’t want to face her parents’ and their open concern. She wanted, _so badly,_ to ask her mother what to do. She wanted her father tell her everything was okay, and wrap her so tightly in his arms that she believed it. But she was alone in her grief, aside from Tikki. She couldn’t tell _anyone_ and it was eating her alive. Whenever something behind the mask ate at her, Marinette had one main confidant, and he was dead. Her eyes stung. Dead dead _dead-_

The door burst open, and she suddenly found herself lifted clear off the ground, wrapped in flour-dusted arms. Marinette lost the battle she’d been fighting with herself all day and sobbed into her father’s shoulder.

XX

Marinette woke to the smell of chocolate.

It wasn’t an uncommon in the patisserie, though it wasn’t typically a morning smell. But if it didn’t smell _heavenly..._ Marinette didn’t want to get up. She was pleasantly warm, wrapped in what felt like her parents’ comforter. The warm tones of afternoon sun filtered into her room. Marinette sat up, stretched, and struggled to open her eyes, which felt like they had been lined with glue. As much as she wanted to keep sleeping, she should probably get up.

She swung her feet over the edge of her bed. It wasn’t morning after all. Huh. Oh well. That chocolate smelled divine, and whatever it was, she should probably save some for Ch-

Oh _._

_Oh._

“Tikki.” It sounded more like a plea than she cared to admit.

Tikki nuzzled into her cheek. “I’m here, Marinette.”

Marinette felt a rush of warmth for the kwami, and for her parents, who undoubtedly brought her up here after she’d cried herself to sleep. Papa had carried her inside like a child and settled her into a chair. Her mother had pressed a warm mug into her hands and kissed the top of her head. Both parents had settled next to their daughter while she cried. They asked if she was hurt, or in danger. If anyone she _knew_ was in danger. She’d shaken her head, because Chat wasn’t in danger. He was already dead.

_“Okay,”_ Maman had said, and neither she or Papa had asked any more questions.

“Your parents love you,” Tikki said, grabbing Marinette’s hairbrush. She set to fixing the disaster that Marinette’s impromptu nap had made of her pigtails.

“I know,” answered Marinette. She sat on the edge of her bed and glanced at her parents’ faded blue comforter. Her parents were the best. Guilt gnawed at her like an angry beast. She was lucky enough to be blessed with such loving parents, and _Chat-_

Her phone buzzed, and she could hear the distinct alarms from her parents’ phones downstairs. Another akuma? Stupidly, she had assumed that Hawkmoth’s so called deal meant there would be no more. Stupid. _Stupid_. Who agreed to a truce without setting the terms first?

“Tikki! Spots on!”

XX

“I thought we had a deal!”

The akuma in front of her was an elderly man covered in whirling gears and clock faces. He timed each of her moves perfectly, and Ladybug hadn’t been able to get more than a single hit in. The magenta outline of a winged mask settled over his features, and his posture straightened. “That deal was contingent on you being of any use to me. _I_ will not fail my son the way you have.”

“ _I’m_ not the one who _killed him_.”

The akuma’s face twist into a snarl.

“I’m still trying,” she pressed before he could either speak or resume his attack. The words felt like they were coming from someone else’s lips. Someone braver, someone whole. “You’re the one who didn’t _wait_ for me. You want my help? Then I’m laying some ground rules. We do this _together._ New information? I tell you, you _tell me_. Until we fix things, you stop trying to attack me. And the biggest one? _No more akumas_. If you attack anyone else, I don’t care what truce you claim, I’m _not_ working with you.”

“And what new information could you possibly have that _I_ do not?” The akuma’s voice was rough with age. It was unnerving, talking to Hawkmoth through such a grandfatherly face.

“I talked to my kwami. Chat’s isn’t in his miraculous. The ring is empty.”

Hawkmoth clearly hadn’t been expecting that. The winged mask vanished out of existence, and Grandfathorloge, the akuma, blinked at her dazedly. With regained control, the akuma launched himself at her. Ladybug narrowly dodged a swinging pendulum, and the air around it rippled and slowed in its wake.

“ _Hey!_ ” Her shout seemed to at least catch Hawkmoth’s attention. Magenta flared around the snarling face before her, and it smoothed into an eerily blank expression. The akuma did not move to attack again, and Ladybug took a steadying breath and squared her shoulders. “I need to know what happened to Chat Noir’s kwami.”

The glowing mask flickered, and the akuma staggered. Magenta flared again, bright, as Hawkmoth regained control. When he spoke, his voice was tight and deliberately even. “He disappeared. I assumed he had returned to the ring.”

Something was missing from this story. _Everything_ was missing from this story except its horrible ending. “Disappeared _how?_ You were the only one there! I need more to go on. When,” she tried very hard not to let her mind imagine anything at all, “when Chat’s transformation dropped, what happened?”

Afternoon was quickly becoming evening, the setting sun- why was the sun always setting when they met?- making heavy shadows around the akuma’s eyes. Though the mask shone, Hawkmoth was deliberately silent, and Ladybug wanted to _scream_ until her voice was gone.

“I can’t help if you don’t give me more _information!”_

“I have no more to _give!_ ” he hissed, and his voice was a paragon of frustration. “Do you not think I have searched every _possible_ recourse? That I have not spent the past four days researching every avenue? Do you think, if there were information that could restore to my son the life he lost, I would _withold_ it when it mattered most? I know you think little of me, but do not assume for one _minute_ that I am not doing everything in my power to save him.”

Ladybug surveyed Grandfathorloge, taking in the spinning gears, the steady rhythm of the swinging pendulum and the moving hands on each clock face. Realization settled over her, wiping her anger away in a flood of something else. She thought back to the past weekend. To the akuma with swirling sands, trapping people in shaped glass prisons, frozen in time. To another whose age was ever changing, sliding between young, old, and all the in-between. To yet another still, with archaic speech patterns and an obsession with tradition- with the _past_. Her chest ached with the dawning understanding of a father’s desperation, and it was in stark contrast with her image of what kind of father Hawkmoth must be. She shook her head, gesturing to the akuma before her. “There has to be a way other than _this_.”

“I am open to suggestion.” His tone suggested he was not. Grandfathorloge crossed his arms, but the tremble in them belied the forced showing of nonchalance.

Suggestion? This was _so much_. She was just one person. How was she supposed to have any idea of what to do next? She only had a very basic understanding of kwami and the powers they wielded. It wasn’t like Master Fu was going to help her, he’d made that abundantly clear. Ladybug had only felt so alone once, and the one who helped her overcome it would never do so again. Not unless- “We go to the source,” she murmured.

“Come again?”

Yes. _Yes!_ Master Fu wouldn’t help, but he wasn’t the only one who _could_. “My guardian wouldn’t help, but he’s not the only one anymore.”

Hawkmoth did not bother to conceal his interest. “The Temple of the Guardians. Yes, of _course_.”

But even as Hawkmoth appeared to glow at the possibility, the elation Ladybug felt was short-lived. She sagged. “I don’t have access to any other miraculous, though. There’s no _way_ I’ll be able to get there.” She couldn’t _walk_ to Tibet, and there was no way she could just say ‘ _hi maman, I don’t suppose I could take you up on that trip to visit Uncle Cheng, like, tomorrow?’_ and then disappear.

Hawkmoth watched her through eyes that were not his own, assessing. “Leave that to me.”

“W- what?”

“I will need three days, after which you will meet me here once the sun has set.” Wait. “You will tell no one.” _What?_ “You will come alone.” What was happening? “Do not be late.” _What was happening?_ “I will meet your terms, Ladybug. Abide mine.”

Before she could process _any_ of this, the glowing mask disappeared, and Grandfathorloge dropped to his knees, gears and clock faces fading away. Confused eyes, set in a heavily lined face, met hers. Ladybug offered the elder a hand, mind spinning. _Don’t be late_. Don’t be late for _what?_

Behind them, ivory wings fluttered away into the twilight.


End file.
